Conversation with Comrade Lenin by Vladimir Mayakovsky

Awhirl with events,packed with jobs one too many,the day slowly sinksas the night shadows fall.There are two in the room:Iand Lenin-a photographon the whiteness of wall.

The stubble slides upwardabove his lipas his mouthjerks open in speech.The tensecreases of browhold thoughtin their grip,immense browmatched by thought immense.A forest of flags,raised-up hands thick as grass...Thousands are marchingbeneath him...Transported,alight with joy,I rise from my place,eager to see him,hail him,report to him!“Comrade Lenin,I report to you -(not a dictate of office,the heart’s prompting alone)

This hellish workthat we’re out to do

will be doneand is already being done.We feed and we clotheand give light to the needy,

the quotasfor coaland for ironfulfill,but there isany amountof bleedingmuckand rubbisharound us still.

Without you,there’s manyhave got out of hand,

all the sparringand squabblingdoes one in.There’s scumin plentyhounding our land,

outside the bordersand alsowithin.

Try tocount ’emandtab ’em -it’s no go,

there’s all kinds,and they’rethick as nettles:kulaks,red tapists,and,down the row,drunkards,sectarians,lickspittles.They strut aroundproudlyas peacocks,badges and fountain pensstudding their chests.We’ll lick the lot of ’em-butto lick ’emis no easy jobat the very best.On snow-covered landsand on stubbly fields,in smoky plantsand on factory sites,with you in our hearts,Comrade Lenin,we build,we think,we breathe,we live,and we fight!”Awhirl with events,packed with jobs one too many,the day slowly sinksas the night shadows fall.There are two in the room:Iand Lenin -a photographon the whiteness of wall.